


The Private Detective

by mysterioussinkhole



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aggressive Introspection, CHARACTER STUDIES FOR ALL!!!, F/F, Future Fic, M/M, Mild Gore, Neo-Noir, Pessimistic World Views
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-16 03:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20180218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterioussinkhole/pseuds/mysterioussinkhole
Summary: The year is 2021. Basira's seen some shit, and frankly? She's sick of it. In the past few years she has cut ties with the Institute, started her own definitely-not-a-PI agency, gotten into a few fights, and lost a few friends. But when a face from the past returns with dire warnings, she ends up on a reunion tour that brings back memories of the best and worst of times. Basira never wanted to be a jaded Neo-noir protagonist. It's just the card she drew





	1. The Mysterious Woman

**Author's Note:**

> The Mysterious Woman - you know the one. The woman in the bar with a black outfit (Nice Hat optional), deep lipstick, dark shades, and a know-it-all smile. She is both sensuous and dangerous, but calm and collected as well, and knows far more than she reveals. Her appearance in a story is a portent of Strange Things Happening; sometimes, she may join The Hero, and other times, she may be his worst enemy. However, something's certainly going to happen, and she'll most likely be right in the middle of it.

She left the window open that evening. The frigid outside air cut through her skin, but she didn’t have enough energy to care just then. She let the chill of it wash over her face, eyes closed, lying flat on her bed. Occasionally, she reminded herself to breathe. The ache in her limbs eased a little now that they were no longer cramped into unnatural positions. Elevators took up a new spot on her list of “Never Doing That Again”.

Basira Hussain was not a PI. She would make that very clear to anyone who said so. She hated PIs, with their money-driven moralities and grimy layers of world-weariness. They were barely better than bounty hunters and only looked out for themselves. This whole enterprise she had created was… an outreach center. She helped keep people safe from things that lurk on the margins of existence, even if it means nearly getting crushed by an elevator that had suddenly decided to do its best impression of a trash compactor. That was when she remembered she aught to call Jamie and tell him to either find a new job or get used to tight spaces.

Jamie, her last client, was young, not inclined to believe in the occult, but keen to get more information on why the mine shafts his employers owned in America collapsed with such regularity. He’d gotten a few samples from a quarry in West Virginia and immediately had the overwhelming feeling that the building was going to fold in on him. He knew his company was involved in something that had harmed and would continue to harm many people, and for all his love for his work as a geologist he couldn’t abide by such things. If she played her cards right she could add another inside man to her growing network.

Of the so-called Dread Powers, she had connections to people affiliated with five of them. Six if you counted Melanie, which she didn’t. If she could get Jamie… As she rolled over to grab her phone from her bedside table, a knock came at the door. Painfully, she sat up. The knocking stopped and a slice of light pierced the gloom of her darkened flat. Even with only a silhouette to go on, the broad shoulders and the cautious stance could only be Daisy.

“Basira,” she said as she stalked out of the illumination and shut the door silently. Basira’s eyes had trouble adjusting to the shifts in light, rendering her old partner invisible. A faint rustle told her that someone had sat next to her in the dark.

“I need your help.”

Basira huffed indignantly, “No sign of you for months and today you just decide to pop in. What if I need your help sometime? How’m I supposed to—“

A hand landed on her shoulder. Steadying as always. She never could say no to Daisy...

“I need your help.”

She could make out the silhouette of her now, moonlight from the window glinting in her eyes. The kind of look that could freeze you in place. Daisy was the sort of person that always had a hint of humanity’s more predatory side to her. It was less evident now that she had softened and let go of the Hunt, but she was still such a dangerous looking person. With her sitting so close, breath fogging slightly, the chill seemed to vanish from the room. She could feel her own pulse in her throat.

“What do you need?”

“You see, I was taking a night walk last week and I found a branch of The People’s Church. A bunch of them were loading up a van. I hid a ways away so I didn’t get much, but I definitely heard something about a “pilgrimage” and they kept saying things about that Norwegian town. N-Ni Allesund?” she stumbled over the name, subconsciously wringing a hand. “I’ve noticed more Dark stuff happening in general lately. Just the other day I went to see Jon and I swear one of the people coming in as I was leaving was one of the people loading that van. I think something is going down.” 

Carefully, Basira rested her head on Daisy’s shoulder. The tension in the ex-Hunter’s body relaxed from that of a piano wire to more of a primed slingshot.

“So you think they made a statement… why do you need me? You’re closer to Jon than I am?”

“He doesn’t want me to go, “ she muttered. “Fucking Sims thinks there’s going to be another ritual attempt and he thinks I should stay out of it so I don’t… backslide. Even threatened to have someone compel me to stay. But he trusts you to do this sort of thing.”

Basira snorted at that. Daisy had missed the bit where they nearly had a fist fight on the Institute steps. Things were better now, but she and the Archivist had at one point spent a solid five months at odds. If Basira was honest with herself, it made sense. That didn’t stop her from saying, “And I’m supposed to do all of this on my own?”

She hated how small her voice sounded underneath the protest. Honestly, she wasn’t twelve. This shouldn’t be terrifying anymore. The world is full of strange and horrible things and she had signed herself up to keep people safe, put a sign on her door and everything. Wasn’t she meant to have more selfless bravery at moments like this? Meant to take it all on, damn her own safety?

Her thoughts were abruptly cut off by Daisy pressing a gentle kiss to her head.

“I wouldn’t ask it of you if I thought you couldn’t do it. I know you. Just be safe. Please.”

Basira raised her head to look her in the eyes. For all Daisy’s harsh, weather-beaten exterior, she was potentially the best person Basira knew. Deep in her bones, untouched by blood and terror, was goodness. She would give anything for things to have turned out differently for them. A nice flat, going to work together, maybe a dog to look after, nights watching bad movies… She’d drive herself mad thinking of all the ways time should have been kinder to them. This was what they had right now.

“Alright,” she breathed. “But you’d better show your face around here more often. You’re not allowed to die while I’m away.”

Daisy laughed a little.

“I’m not?”

“You heard me.”

And Daisy kissed her. It wasn’t long, but it was long enough to leave Basira feeling hollowed out. How long would she be gone this time? She almost asked her to stay the night. Almost. She tried not to be in the habit of actively making her own life more complicated. So she just watched as Daisy slipped back out with a whispered farewell. It was suddenly too cold for her to stand and she rose to shut the window. Outside, a streetlamp sputtered out. Basira started at the sudden shift and frowned slightly.

  
  



	2. The Jerk with a Heart of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jerk with a Heart Gold - A person you would expect to be a big Jerkass has some redeeming qualities behind their tough demeanor.

The Magnus Institute was quiet these days. It was quiet before, but the unearthliness of it had grown to be nearly overwhelming. All background blips of air conditioning, paper shuffling, even that ever present ringing in her ears, all gone. She hated this place in a unique way. Walking through the lobby and taking the stairs down, she found herself clenching her teeth. God, how had she lived here?

Every bit of the Institute remained the same. If the world ended it would probably remain untouched. Always watching… Basira wasn’t sure how to approach the Archivist. They had patched things up following The Incident, but she knew he wasn’t the type to forget. The walk all the way to the back corner of the Archives to reach his office gave her too much time with just her own thoughts.

_ Basira broke out of Jon’s rough grip on her arm and shoved him back, before pointing an accusatory finger in his face, “Can’t you see that you’re hurting people?! Once this place has a hold on you, it never lets you go. I’m not about to let you harm anyone else, you monster!” _

_ The Archivist’s eyes blazed with fury. He fixed her with a glare that shook her to the marrow of her bones, “I am giving you five minutes to get out of here or I will drag every awful thing you’ve ever done out of you right here where everyone can see.” _

_ She spit in his face and stormed off the steps of the Magnus Institute, vowing that Jonathan Sims would never have her mercy again. _

It hadn’t lasted. Anger that strong never could. They were bound by the same force, whether they liked it or not, and Basira’s hatred of the Beholding couldn’t keep her away from the only other person who truly understood the feeling.

He had two new assistants; she’d seen them on the way in. How fast was he going through them nowadays? Lost in her observations, she nearly collided with him. Jonathan Sims was rifling through a box of cassette tapes that looked like they were from earlier in his tenure as the Archivist. He didn’t seem surprised to see her, easily stepping out of her way. She was still getting used to the fact that his hair had gone fully gray at the tender age of thirty-three, most likely from some accident he hadn’t deigned to tell her about. Three months of a truce and he still didn’t trust her enough to explain. Not surprising. Paranoia and bad decisions had always been in his nature.

“I assume this is about the Dark. Which one do you want?”

He didn’t even look up from his research. Typical.

Before her mouth could even form the syllables, he took off through the rows of shelves, leaving her to trail after him like an idiot. If Basira had to pick one thing about him that she hated the most, it was his ability to make her feel inadequate. Sure, he didn’t know everything, but he was good at acting like he did. She wouldn’t let him hold onto that facade if she could help it.

“Did you interview them in person?”

He stopped in front of a set of files labeled with little black tags and cast a frown in her direction.

“No. I make a point to avoid those sorts of dreams. The People’s Church are rather dull, if I’m honest. And yes, that is a joke, but no, I am not going to tell you the reason.”

She made a point of rolling her eyes at him. Giving spooky mind powers to a massive prick only made him worse. At least he had a party trick. All Basira had received from the Eye was an ill-fitting moniker and trust issues.

Jon snickered at that particular thought and passed her the appropriate statement. Then he said, “I’m going to have to ask you to look it over in here. There have been… difficulties when someone tries to leave with a statement. It’s best you don’t risk it.”

It was just her luck that she’d be stuck in her least favorite place making awkward small talk with someone she had barely made up with. Basira huffed and started towards her old desk, only to hear Jon mutter, “You could at least try to be civil.”

She whirled around to fix him with a hard glare.

“You know what, Jon? If you want to play act at being human, the least you could do is stay out of my head.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, you could at least have the decency to pretend! God, you’re insufferable…”

“Oh, yes,” he scoffed. “Nice to see you, too.”

She stalked off before he could continue. Trust him to make her want to go right back to sitting on the Institute’s front steps and warning people away. It would be worth it just to see his face go that particular shade of purple. Civility be damned.

“You’re thinking very loudly over there.”

“Fuck off.”

Their friendship was delicate, like a recently closed wound. It hadn’t scarred over to the point where she could no longer feel the old pain.

It took little time to read through the statement but the implications of it were overwhelming. The statement giver, Marisol Davila, was a run of the mill member of the People’s Church of the Divine Host. Unlike Manuela Dominguez’s statement, it wasn’t a challenge or threat from one power to another. She was scared. The young woman had glimpsed the never-ending darkness that would come if the ritual was completed and discovered it was not what she wanted for the world. She had done her best to outline what she knew, but her limited view of the situation did not make a method of prevention obvious. All she knew was that there would be dark water, a chosen one, and the remains of a dark star. And then oblivion.

The constant looming threat of a Dark ritual had never sat well with Basira. They’d done the whole dance many times over the past few decades with no follow through. This time it was different. Their movements weren’t meant to be seen; the fact that she knew how was pure luck.

She and Jon spent a few hours bouncing ideas off of each other and combing through any relevant statements they could find. And it all kept circling back to:

“Yes, but this time they’re using a miniature black sun! How are we supposed to combat that?!”

“We just have to make sure they can’t get to it.”

“Oh of course, excuse me while I go take my rocket ship into outer space to take care of that. Sure, no problem.”

The whole afternoon felt like an exercise in futility. The more they talked it over the more hopeless it seemed. Hours passed in futile conversation and night fell over the Magnus Institute.

“Ok,” Jon began the same way he had the last ten times. “In the past, some of the rituals have been prevented through the addition of something antithetical to the power in question into the proceedings. For the Unknowing it was something rational and straightforward, an explosion. A familiar solution so it worked. Agnes was stopped by sentiment—“

“And the Watcher’s Crown failed because you had faith in us,” Basira completed the thought, not missing the pained look on Jon’s face at the mention of that particular experience. He still didn’t like to talk about it, even two years later. “So, we just need to use something that’s the opposite of what the Dark stands for.”

“Right, give me just a second,” Jon agreed before disappearing into his office and returning with a leather-bound notebook. He set it down on the desk.

“This is all of the information I have on the structure and habits of the Powers and their followers in the most easily digestible terms I could manage. I— Well, it started out as a contingency for if I died and got replaced by a new Archivist,” his expression darkened. “They should know what they’re agreeing to.”

Basira took it and carefully flipped through the pages. They were covered in Jon’s frankly appalling handwriting, labelled things like “Internal Structure” and “Overlaps and Dichotomies”. It was extensive. The section devoted to the Dark ritual had a few sketches of the closed-eye symbol and pictures of Ny-Älesund. Under the small subheading “Antithesis Theory,” a few lines were filled with suggestions, many of which were scratched through. The remaining three were: Big Light maybe, Progress? They seem fixated on darkness being the fundamental state of the universe, and Clarity.

“What did you mean by clarity?” She pointed out the line in question.

Jon pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“It’s more conceptual than anything, but the Dark is all about obfuscation, right? So I figured that there could be a way to stop them by depriving them of anywhere to hide. You lay everything out plainly with no mysticism or dimness and force them to face reality. All it took was a tiny grain of doubt to put Agnes out of commission. If you show these people the world as it really is, rather than something built on ‘the death of darkness’, bit by bit until they can’t deny it… they’d have nowhere to run.”

“But it would take years to seed something like that. The amount of people and variables you’d have to manipulate…” Basira trailed off as an idea struck her. And Jon proceeded to read her like a book. She could tell by the way his brow furrowed and his eyes caught the light like a nocturnal animal. It was always obvious when he probed someone else’s head.

“I don’t know if he can do something like that. He’d need to get Annabelle on board. But he might try if you went to see him.”

Basira swallowed. She hadn’t seen Martin in ages. He wasn’t exactly eager to go out in public these days.

“Is he doing alright?”

“Um, he’s taking it one day at a time. Better than when it started, though.”

At this, Jon slumped back in his chair. She knew Martin’s condition always weighed heavily on him. It had been years since the change had first started to take hold but if Jon’s progression was any indication, he’d be in the worst throes of it around now. No wonder the Archivist looked so beaten down. It caught up with everyone eventually.

Jon sat up and exhaled loudly, before asking, “Do you want a cigarette?”

“You’re smoking again?”

He shrugged, “Can’t kill me now.”

Basira didn’t usually smoke, apart from a self-destructive period in her teenage years, but it was the sort of day where she could use the feeling of burning something. So, she followed him out into the cold January air. Streetlights cast a sickly glow onto the snow that steadily gathered on the ground. They stood in silence, breathing out smoke. It was quiet this time of night. Well, as quiet as a city like London can be. The two of them watched it all from their own bubble with no one to intrude.

This was what she liked about Jon. Not that he was occasionally funny (though it was one of his better aspects) but that he knew when to linger on something important. In this case, it was silence. It was quite a bit before his voice finally cut through the moment.

“I asked Martin to marry me.”

She whipped around to stare at him, eyebrows shooting up towards her hairline.

“What, really?! Always figured he’d ask you.”

He chuckled at that, “He said the same thing.”

This side of Jon made few appearances, the part where he actually cared about other people. He rubbed a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck and  _ beamed _ at her. The idea of him blushing and ducking his head was incongruous with her idea of the man.

“It’s going to be a small sort of thing. In April. And we’d love to have you there.”

Basira couldn’t help the smile that began to spread across her face. Even after all of their disagreements he still wanted her at his wedding. His wedding with Martin. Jon and Martin were getting married. What a concept. There had been a time when she comforted herself by thinking,  _ At least I have it better than him. _

“Yes, alright. My ego can only take so much.”

“Stop reading my mind, you prick.”

She shoved him lightly, still grinning. “Maybe there is hope for you,” she teased, “What, are you guys actually going to settle down? Be all domestic?”

He shifted awkwardly. It was hard to tell in the dark but she was almost certain he was blushing. With a cough to clear his throat, Jon nodded his head in assent. Oh, this absolute idiot. Adorable.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Basira checked it to see a text from Daisy of all things.

“Something’s up on the river bank. I followed some PC guys and they got attacked. I think it’s Melanie. You need to go.”

“Where?” She typed.

As Daisy typed her response, Jon touched her arm lightly to get her attention.

“Go.”

And he spouted off directions he shouldn’t have known like it was nothing. She granted him a small nod of thanks before taking off.

  
  



	3. The Lady in Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lady in Red - Lady in Red is something of an old-fashioned trope, where The Vamp or the Femme Fatale was designated by having her wear bright red formalwear. In more prudish times the Lady in Red was considered almost dangerous.

The stench of blood overpowered the typical river smell as Basira stumbled to a halt and crouched in the shadow of the surrounding bushes and trees. They peppered the bit of land that gave way to the Chelsea Embankment. The lights from either side of the Thames glinted off the water. Closer to the place where the tide rushed in, she could make out a group of silhouettes.

A short figure lashed out at three taller figures, while two distinctly human shadowy heaps collapsed on the ground. The water lapped over them with every swell of the tide. Before Basira’s eyes, the smaller of the four standing figures, Melanie most likely, suddenly launched herself at one of the others and latched onto them. The ensuing scuffle lasted only a few seconds before there was a horrific tearing noise. Melanie dropped off of the crumpling person with a wet thud. The remaining two appeared frozen in place, the fear palpable in that moment of stillness. Suddenly, with a strength Basira had never witnessed before, Melanie picked up their fallen comrade and hurled him bodily at them. Basira held back a wince at the impact. With the breath knocked out of them, beating them to death was child’s play. The limited visibility somehow made it worse, because all she could think about was the _ noises _ . When the tearing sound came again Basira wanted to vomit. Melanie hummed a vague tune as she stood again, clutching something dark, fist-sized, and dripping. All was silent except for the soft splashing of the river and faint snatches of the Slaughter’s melody. Basira swallowed hard.

“Melanie,” she called, carefully stepping out of the shadows. The smallest shade jerked around. As Basira approached, she could make out the blood that had sprayed all over Melanie. Her clothes were drenched and her face was covered in dark speckles. And she was grinning.

“Basira! It’s been ages! How did you find me?”

“Er… Daisy was keeping tabs on… them,” she gestured at the mangled remains of Melanie’s prey.

She cocked her head to the side. “She’s looking into the Dark people, too? Small world. Well, I took care of ‘em. Problem solved.”

But it wasn’t was it? These people were just part of the problem. And if anything, this miniature massacre would only serve to tip the People’s Church off that someone had caught onto their activities. This could ruin everything. Before Basira could even try to admonish her, Melanie launched into her account of what happened. Bloody Beholding. Everyone wanted to tell her their goddamn life story these days.

“So here I was, doing a bit of light night stalking, as you do, and what do I see but this,” she kicked a body for emphasis. “little gang doing something sketchy on the waterfront. Now I thought to myself, that’s a bit off. So I hopped the fence and went down to get a closer look and to my surprise these motherfuckers were a bunch a Dark lackeys. Look at ‘em. Bastards have fucking regalia. And I remember all those statements about the Dark where the water got all fucked up when they were around, right? Here they are at the Thames. Dot. Dot.”

She drew a line through the air until her two fingers connected.

Basira just stared at her.

“So you decided the best thing to do was… what, slaughter them? Tear some hearts out?”

“Nah, that was just for fun.”

Of course. Leave it to Melanie. She knew being claimed by a power was a rough process, but she had run out of sympathy for her old friend. Being betrayed and manipulated by your therapist was awful, a violation of the worst degree, but it didn’t justify this. Blind anger and the resulting murderous rampages weren’t acceptable. God, how many people had she done similar things to? How many of them had been innocent? It would do her no favors in this situation, but the side of Basira that still believed in justice couldn’t let it go.

“You can’t keep doing this. I’m in the middle of doing something  _ very _ important and these people cannot find out that they’re being watched. Melanie, killing these people indiscriminately is going to fuck everyone over,”

Melanie’s face fell slightly. “I thought— at least by now you must’ve—“

“This isn’t ok! Running about killing whoever you want isn’t ok! You understand that, right?!”

“How’m I any different than you, huh? What do you do to the monsters you find? Slap ‘em in handcuffs? Give them time out? I am keeping people safe! I kill these sick bastards so that everyone else is safe and even better, I make them suffer for it! I make them feel every bit of pain that they inflicted on other people, which is more than I can say for you. Don’t patronize me with your self-righteous bullshit when I’m actually doing something that matters!”

“That’s not— That’s a false equivalency. I protect people. All you know how to do is hurt.”

A spark lit in Melanie’s eyes as Basira’s accusation hung in the air. Over the course of the past few years, her eyes had gone glassier and colder with each sporadic meeting, almost like a shark’s. Basira’s words had hit a deeply buried nerve and for just that moment, she feared for her life. She couldn’t help but take a step back as Melanie stalked closer. Light caught the blood splattered across her face, but Melanie didn’t look frenzied. She was angry, sure. But the prevailing emotion in her expression was reproach.

She moved invasively close, bared her teeth, and leaned toward Basira’s ear. Melanie whispered, “Then consider it mercy that I let you live.”

Her heart beat wild as a cornered animal’s, but Basira steeled herself. She was not here to be intimidated or ripped apart she was here to… she wasn’t sure. There was no one left to keep safe but the two of them. Maybe she simply hoped that something might go differently this time. She drew a shaking breath and placed a hand on Melanie’s arm.

“I’m sorry it ended up like this.”

Melanie tensed.

“What do you mean ‘ended’? We’re still going, aren’t we? Still living. If you think that things will always be like they are now, I honestly feel sorry for you. I’m always getting better, Basira, but I’m doing it my way. I’m not finished. Neither are you. So just… take care of yourself. Call me when you’re ready to be an adult and stop talking down to me.”

And with that, she turned and knocked on the door that had not been there before, quickly ushered in by hands with too-long fingers. What did all of it mean? She acted like Basira was some holier-than-thou do-gooder who just didn’t understand her, but Basira was right. Right? Brutal murder was unacceptable no matter who the victim was. No one deserved to… She couldn’t bring herself to finish that thought. There were definitely things in the world that deserved to feel pain. But this was different from a disagreement over moral philosophy. Even outside the police force, she clung to the rules society had set out for itself. Thinking you were beyond them because you knew of greater things only served to make life worse for everyone else.

Melanie had seemed calm, though. Well, calmer than previously. Her volatility had ebbed since the massacre downtown. It was almost like she had found some peace amidst her ocean of seething rage. Try as she might, Basira couldn’t begrudge her that. Perhaps she’d had a point. Change is ever-present, and to remain the same would be worse than only incremental improvement. Basira wasn’t sure she could ever bring herself to approve of Melanie’s methods, but at least her heart was in the right place. She was trying. For now, that would have to be enough.

Shaking herself out of her contemplation, she sent a quick text to Daisy explaining what happened and almost sent one to Jon before thinking better of it. He probably knew already. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing Martin the next day, but time was of the essence. Maybe he’d be in good mood with all the impending festivities?

Basira began the long trudge back to the Tube station, ready to get a few hours of actual sleep before facing the next day.

  
  



	4. The Last DJ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Last DJ - This is a character type with a lot of integrity. His skills at what he does has made him something of a legend, often greatly admired by those who work beneath or alongside him. He refuses to just go along with what his bosses or administration want. Unfortunately, because he doesn't play by the rules of office politics, and because house politics here promote blind obedience, his superiors have blacklisted him and made his career stall out at a certain point. This results in a tense situation where management may be actively looking to get rid of him, but can't because of his reputation, while he wants to either just do his thing or make changes to the existing system.

Basira didn’t know what she had expected. A Web stronghold crawling with spiders. Someplace busy, lots of minds at work, maybe? Or even just going to John and Martin’s flat and having to coax Martin out of the bedroom. Definitely not a text from a long dormant number telling her:  **Meet at the Millennium Bridge. 1 AM. Look forward to seeing you. :)**

It added more evidence to her working theory that becoming the servant of an all powerful being automatically makes you a dramatic bitch. Fucking Millennium Bridge at one fucking AM. She was going to give him so much shit for this, Martin was gonna be in for it. Web powers or not, she still had to give him a hard time for picking a place that was not only cold but ridiculously exposed. Starting her way out towards the center a single figure began to come into focus. They were the right height to be Martin, maybe a bit thinner than he was when she last saw him. The frigid wind made her grit her teeth to avoid shivering. She might punch him a little bit, too. 

Once she made it to him, it became very clear this person was Martin. He fidgeted awkwardly with the hem of his sweater, and for some reason resolutely stared at the ground.

“What are we doing here Martin?” She sighed in exasperation. “Couldn’t I have met you somewhere… warmer?”

Without looking up, he responded, “It’s one of my favorite places. Have you ever looked at this?”

He gestured towards the ground. All along the modernistic metal structure of the footbridge were dark splotches of ground in gum, beat into the surface from years of pedestrians. But some of them… she’d forgotten about that. A while back some local artist or other had gotten tired of the gum looking ugly and started painstakingly painting each one with a little design. The bridge was scattered with little bits of art.

“I like looking for new ones. It’s just nice, y’know? And… I don’t know, I just always had the feeling that something was up with this place in terms of our lot. But we’re not here to talk about that, are we?”

A curious feeling began to wash over Basira. Martin still insisted on staring at the ground as he spoke, his voice full of some inscrutable emotion. Something tugged at her consciousness. Her words came unexpectedly, “No, we’re not.”

“Tell me what it is you want. John wasn’t very forthcoming and I’d like to know what you expect from me,” He finally looked up at her and smiled sweetly. “Please?”

The feeling doubled in force. It was like being compelled but… she couldn’t even organize her thoughts before her intentions were pulled out of her.

“The Dark ritual is imminent. I thought the last attempt would have put them out of commission for longer but they must have found a way to stop before the point of no return. I have an advantage this time because they don’t know that I know what they’re doing, though Melanie may have just ruined that. I need you because John and I may have figured out how to stop them. Manipulate them into doubting their own beliefs until their faith isn’t enough. We need you and probably Annabelle too and… You didn’t have to do that.”

“Please be quiet, I need to think.”

Thus, silence fell thick between them. Basira glared at the man next to her, but he didn’t think to pay her any attention. She could almost see the pros, cons, and strategies buzzing in his head. Assertiveness was ugly on him. After a few moments he flicked his eyes back to her and said, “Ok, what makes you think it will work?”

“Do you do this to John, too?!”

“Please don’t talk to me about John. If you must know, I am doing this because I haven’t seen you in years and the last time I did you were practically disappointed the Watcher’s Crown failed. So forgive me if I’m a bit hesitant to trust you.”

Well, that was completely unfair.

“I wasn’t in my right mind!” She sputtered. “None of us were! The Beholding was toying with us! You should know what it feels like to have something like that in your head, you’ve been affiliated with how many again? God, and I was planning on being nice to you…”

“Please answer my question.”

Martin’s gaze turned flinty. She knew that she needed his help but he wasn’t making it easy for her to like him. He never had. Gritting her teeth, she explained antithesis theory as best she could and outlined the elements of the plan she and John had already figured out. Slowly, he softened. Curiosity still held onto a part of him, it seemed. This hadn’t been at all like she’d anticipated. She’d thought… Well, she’d thought he would be a wreck. The way John had acted, she had imagined he was caught up in some deep depression with powers emerging that he still hadn’t learned to control. Once she finished explaining, they did nothing but stare at each other, engaged in a silent battle of wills. Martin may have an upper hand provided to him by the Web but Basira was the woman who’d thought her way out of the Unknowing itself and there was no way in hell she would let this mouse of a man get the better of her. He knew that their plan was the best option, he obviously trusted John’s judgement, and at the end of the day he didn’t want to see the world end either. He’d be a fool not to agree. His only obstacle was admitting she was right.

He broke with something that might have been a sigh, “You make a fair point. I’ll see what I can do. Annabelle trusts me, but she’s not quick to trust others. It’ll take time to convince her. I think… I think that we can do what you need.”

“Good,” A beat later she added, “Thank you.”

“You can ask me about it, you know.”

“W-Why are you like this now?” Basira swallowed hard. “I thought you’d be…”

Martin cocked his head quizzically for a second before seeming to realize something and gave her a half-nod.

“You thought I’d be a wreck. I was, for awhile. But you know as well as I do that you can only hold onto all of that bitterness for so long. The decision to join Annabelle was one of necessity at the time and once everything with the Watcher’s Crown and All Alone was done with I couldn’t believe I had been so willing to give myself up like that. She took me away for a few months, made me learn how to properly control others. How to manipulate variables in my favor and anticipate any chain of events. We fought a lot then. She was always more than willing to sacrifice lives for the preferred end result but I could never do it. May’ve made it harder, but I wouldn’t harm anyone if it could be avoided. All those people who serve the powers, all those avatars, they’re so certain that the only truth to them is fear. Yeah, fear is a big part of it but it’s not all there is, y’know? Aligning yourself with one doesn’t mean you have to go full out evil and start murdering babies or something. She didn’t agree with me but we still worked together. It was weird to have a mentor who wasn’t constantly fucking with me. For someone all about manipulation, Annabelle was really straight forward.

“When I was finally allowed to find John… It was everything I’d dared hope for. We were happy and things were good, but there was always this nagging sensation that maybe he didn’t really want any of the life we’d made. What if I was making him want it? Could I do that? It kept biting at me no matter how hard I tried to ignore the possibility. Didn’t help that I started getting weird emails that I could only assume were from Annabelle telling me to go places and say things and warp outcomes. She never made me go against my principles but I could tell she didn’t like the way I handled things. She thought saying “Please” made me seem weak. There would be spiders in our flat more often which drove John mad, but he never complained. Why wouldn’t he complain? I never said anything, I just my anxieties build and build until…”

Martin took a shaky breath. Basira wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him say this much at one time outside of statements and a eulogy for Tim. Truth be told, she knew very little about him and had never cared much about that fact. This was a lot at once, but nothing her thirst for information didn’t appreciation. That said, she still wasn’t prepared when he looked her dead in the eye and opened up three more sets of eyes. They formed curves on either side of his face, a bit like the curl of a ram’s horn.

She swore violently and had to fight not to be sick. In the grand scheme of things, this was not that drastic of a change but this was still someone she knew. Someone she begrudgingly cared about. He blinked deliberately a few times and put on a forced smile. She just shook her head. 

“How long have you had those???”

“Erm… Seven months now? It took awhile for them to grow in and it hurt like hell. Thought it was just migraines at first. Once it was obvious what they were… It, uh, wasn’t exactly a good time. I got kind of… reckless? Didn’t take care of myself like I should’ve. Eventually John came home with a cat of all things,” A hint of a fond laugh colored his words. “He said that I was more likely to be safe if I had someone depending on me. It was the kind of manipulation I could appreciate. These past fews months I’ve just been trying to hold it all together. I’m not giving up my humanity without a fight, y’know? People deserve compassion and mercy and I’m not going to be unkind just because the world has been unkind to me. Annabelle and the others may not like it, but I’m not gonna give in so easily. Someone has to try and make things better. May as well be me.”

Basira experienced several emotions at once; indexing them took a moment of thought. There was definitely some anger in there, though it was hard to tell if she was angry at Martin for putting himself in this situation or at the world in general. She was… she felt guilty. Why? None of this was her fault. Maybe it was that she had never tried to help. But there was also admiration. Martin could be the Web’s last hold out, its last bit of kindness. It wasn’t far off from her own goals, really. They just worked from opposite sides, inside and out. Her own bitter self and this man were the few who still hoped for something better and tried to protect people as best they could within a system that continually reminded them that there were much easier ways to live. She bit her lip and forced herself to look him in all of his eyes.

“That’s, uh- That’s good, Martin. I’m glad. I’m doing my best to do the same sort of thing for people in trouble with the powers. Fix problems where I see them. If you could do this, it would save a lot of people. It would save everyone. Please. Talk to Annabelle.”

“Of course. There was never a chance I’d say no. I just… I’m glad I could talk to you. All of that had been bottled up too long.”

With a start she realized that he thought she’d compelled him, or whatever the Detective version of that was. She hadn’t even noticed. It all came so naturally, like she was a priest on the other side of a confessional in every conversation she had.

Martin held out a hand. As the chill seeped into both of them, they finally shook hands as equals. Perhaps not friends, but hopefully there would be time for that later.

  
  



	5. They Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They Do - Will They or Won't They? They will, and They Do. The conclusion of a Romance Arc with a Happy Ending. The point where we are finally done with breakups, misunderstandings and second thoughts.

The world didn’t end. It felt like there should be more to it, but at the end of the day the world’s continued existence was all that really mattered. Basira had gained a few new scars. The People’s Church of the Divine Host had scattered to the wind; they lurked in corners, flinching away from the light of day. For once, she had a period of respite. It was a time worth celebrating.

“I’ve known John for too long, just way too long. He’s an absolute mess and unquestionably my best friend. Most people might find it a bit awkward to be making a best man speech at your ex’s wedding, but literally no one in this room is most people. One way or another, we’ve all been drawn into something huge and terrifying and unfathomable and a lot of the time I feel like I can’t even move because it all seems so hopeless. But that’s why I’m so glad for nights like tonight. John and Martin love each other, they are getting married, and there’s nothing those big extra dimensional bastards can do about it. They choose to find happiness where they can, which is bloody hard!

“So, this is a best man speech, yeah? That means I get to embarrass both of you and there’s nothing you can do it about it. Martin. We met under less than ideal circumstances. You implied that John not telling you about me meant I was some sort of spy and proceeded to give me suspicious looks every time I visited him in the hospital. Now that I know you better I get it, but at the time I thought you might be secretly evil and trying to psych me out. It took me sneaking my cat into a public hospital to get you to actually talk to me, and thank God I did. I am so glad to have Martin as a friend. If I ever need someone to have tea and bitch about people with, he is my go-to man. But despite being the pettiest person I know, which I say with love, he is also the most caring. I have seen him drop everything to help John find his missing glasses, bring toys over for the Admiral whenever he feels like it, and talk a cop out of giving Daisy a parking ticket. He’s a good person, and I don’t think John could’ve done better for himself.

“Now, I have a lot I could say about John. Just so much. But I think tonight I’m just going to tell a story from just after I met him. We were both doing our graduate’s degrees at the same university and had a literature class in common. There was a study group we both went to and we started hanging out as friends. Being John, he was never much for going out places and doing things that could be deemed fun, but I managed to talk him into something once. I got him to go to karaoke with me. Whatever you are imagining right now I can assure you it was even better. He sat in a corner trying to secretly read a book he snuck past me until I forced him to at least get a drink. Little known fact: John is such a lightweight, his alcohol tolerance is lower than a baby’s. He was shitfaced after two beers and it was  _ hilarious.  _ At that point, he decided that he was gonna do karaoke too. Before you ask, yes there is a video and yes I am about to play it.”

Basira cackled as John practically tried to launch himself over the table to try and grab the remote from Georgie’s hand, but it was far too late for that. The projector they’d set up started playing a fuzzy cellphone video of a drunken John rambling his way through what sounded vaguely like 99 Luft Balloons? She had to clutch onto Daisy’s arm to keep from collapsing. God, it’d been ages since she’d laughed like that. For his part, John was fighting very hard to maintain his composure which was not at all helped by Martin singing the song loudly at him. The other people in the small venue, most of whom she knew and most of whom were in some way supernatural, looked on in amusement. She could swear there was a tiny door in the brick wall that kept opening, two heads peeking into the room and snickering. For his part, John’s recorded voice didn’t sound half-bad.

The wedding venue was nice. Martin had mentioned that he used to come here in the summer when he was little. She had a feeling it had been procured through less than ethical means, but she would let it go for today. They were on a brick patio surrounded by foliage and overgrown gardens with a few tables set up and fairy lights strung down from the next door house to the short wall that went around them. There was a small alcove with a bench and a fountain, and down along the path that led into the garden there was the trellis, under which the two of them had gotten married an hour or so ago. It had all been simple, but there was still a quality of magic to the place.

All things considered, she was glad the world hadn’t ended. They wouldn’t have had this chance to just take a moment and be happy. There wouldn’t have been anything left but darkness. Basira reached over and took Daisy’s hand. It was warm.

The night slipped by in a pleasant mix of laughter and sincere congratulations. Martin managed to lead John through a simple waltz and even got him to dance with him a few more times throughout the evening. They were clumsy, awkward, and infectiously happy. Georgie’s speech came back to her for a moment. Choosing to grasp onto happiness when you could… Basira had never been much good at that. She had been so convinced that starting anything with her old partner would be futile. The world always seemed to be ending. But… Why should she make herself miserable in the meantime? Daisy’s presence in her life, even for just a few days here and there, had begun to melt what ice had settled on her heart. Perhaps, choosing fleeting happiness over certain misery was worth the uncertainty.

With a slight nudge, she drew Daisy’s attention away from her piece of cake and motioned towards where others were dancing. Daisy granted her the softest smile in response and took her hand as they went out to join the festivities. The sky was clear. The stars were bright.

  
  



End file.
